Under the Malign Star
by Whatever Makes You Break
Summary: Morgana confesses Mordred's true roots. Once reunited with Arthur and Merlin, she soon realizes some old scars will never fade. Merlin/Morgana & Arthur/Morgana
1. Chapter 1

_**Under the Malign Star**_

–

_Chapter One_

–

_One does evil enough when  
><em>_one does nothing good._

–

King Arthur gripped the back of his desk chair, unintentionally rocking it from four legs to two. His mind was elsewhere, lost in his thoughts his beloved – of Gwen – his adulterous Queen. The entire castle must have heard the news by now, of her affair with Lancelot. The entire royal court had walked in on the two of them – mid kiss. Arthur had been humiliated, mortified and broken into nothingness in front of a crowd. He wanted to die, right then and there. He wished that he could disappear, crumble into ash and drift away upon a gust of wind. But no, he had to appear unfazed and noble. He simply bowed rigidly to all enclosed the throne room and dismissed himself. Merlin had been the only creature allowed to speak with him since the treacherous display though many attempted to enter his chambers, Gwen and Lancelot included. Merlin had informed the king that Guinevere locked herself in her chambers, refusing meals and company. Arthur's chest was tight and aching with pain. He felt angry and betrayed, and he wanted nothing more than to never walk into the light of day again.

After everything he had done for her, after everything he gave up to be with her – how dare she betray him? Hell had been raised when their relationship was made public, generations of nobility swept under the rug and abandoned all for Gwen. He regretted it now, he should have been more sensible – less consumed with the sheer romance of it all. The image kept replaying in his mind, her hand gripping Lancelot's collar the same way she had once flirtatiously done to him. A sour taste choked him, a bite of despair stuck in his throat. Then suddenly, out of a fit of uncontrollable rage, Arthur tightened his grip on the top of his chair and threw it as hard as he could toward the door – a door that was now open, a door that had been guarded, a door that now revealed Morgana. She nonchalantly extended the heel of her boot to cease he chair's slide toward her. She smirked down at the now splintered piece of furniture before tilting her head up to meet her half-brother's gaze. She smirked before casually waving her hand, eye aflame and slammed the door shut behind her as if she had channeled some invisible gust of wind, the very gust of wind Arthur wished he could escape within.

"Aren't you a bit old for temper tantrums, Arthur?" she teased, flicking her wrist and magically skidding the chair back into place.

"Morgana, what an unpleasant surprise," he breathed. "To what do I owe this displeasure?"

"I merely came for a social call," she smiled, a smile that never reached her eyes. "I could not pass up an excuse to see my dear brother in his time of need."

"I'm sure," he replied curtly.

Morgana strode forward, reaching Arthur's dresser and wiping an invisible line of dust from the top, grimacing at her fingertips. She ran her index finger and thumb together before returning her attention to Arthur.

"I warned you about Guinevere," she said coyly. "I told you long ago that she could not be trusted."

"Yes, and I can hardly believe I chose to believe my wife over the likes of you," he said.

"You should always trust those who have nothing to lose, Arthur," she advised, "because we have no reason to lie. People like Guinevere are the ones you should be weary of, for if a single untruth lies between a life of luxury and a life of destitution – only a fool would choose the truth."

"Get out," he snapped. "I am in no mood."

"Poor thing," she pouted in jest. "You never could stand to be pitied."

"Do not contradict me, Morgana," he seethed. "You show up, unannounced, in the middle of the night for no reason but to gloat."

"Aw, you're no fun," he said. "I would have expected you would be pleased to see me. It has been a few years since we last crossed paths. Have you forgotten?"

"You burned down the North Tower," he said dryly. "I doubt I could forget the last time we met even if I wanted to."

"Ah, yes," she said as if she had forgotten herself, "sorry about that. I really did only mean to steal a couple selected items from the dungeons."

"I'm sure you are truly regretful," he replied sarcastically.

"Probably almost as much as your Guinevere is right about now," she smirked wickedly.

Arthur swallowed hard.

"She never was one for loyalty, you know," said Morgana, "but she always was fond of regret and remorse – or at least acting as if she was."

"And what would you know of loyalty?" Arthur spat.

"Nothing," she said quietly, looking a bit broken. "You're right. I have never known the feeling of loyalty–"

"Camelot was nothing but loyal to you, Morgana," said Arthur with confidence.

"HA!" she scoffed, gripping her skirts and taking several heavy footed steps towards the window before swiftly and poignantly turning around to glare at Camelot's king. "When were any of you and your slaves to the crown ever loyal to me? Uther denied me as his only daughter, treated me as a guest in a home that should have been mine all along. Merlin who would prefer me cower in fear of the knowledge of my abilities, allow me to think I was all alone – _a monster_ – while he remained in the shadows of your good graces. Then he poisoned me, let me die in his feeble arms like some butchered beast."

"Merlin had no choice," Arthur argued.

"He had a choice," Morgana interrupted so callously, so coldly that Arthur felt a shiver climb his able spine. "We all had a choice."

"Morgana–"

"I am far from finished," she sneered. "I cannot exclude Gaius who protected his idiot apprentice, spitting on a decade of affection and loyalty to me. And then there's your bride, _sire_, who would so easy cast me aside for a mere fleeting glance from you or your Sir Lancelot. Though Guinevere is incapable of being loyal to anyone, and that obviously does not exclude you," Arthur suddenly shifted uncomfortably and Morgana smiled wickedly as she received the response she had traveled so very far to claim. "Ah, and I appear to have struck a nerve."

Morgana retained her chilling grin as she strode gracefully forward, circling the King like an elegant huntress about to deliver her prey a final mortal blow, and _maybe she was_. But Arthur was never one to step down from a fight, yield in battle – especially not to Morgana. He cleared his throat in a matter that had all the intention to sound regal but ended up sounding so utterly ungraceful that he was embarrassed for himself.

"And me?" said Arthur, longing for a change in subject. "How have I wronged you? I have always remained loyal to you, Morgana."

She did not expect this, not at all. She'd come to gloat, so wallow in his sorrows of his adulterous whore, not to bring up wounds from their past, wounds that had never healed, not really. She swallowed her self-satisfied grin and adjusted her jaw.

"Your father," she began slowly and meaningfully. "He raised his hand to me, and you– you stood idly by like one of his idiot bootlickers. I expected it from all the others, Arthur, but not from you, _never from you_."

"I helped the boy escape, didn't I?" he snapped. "If I betrayed anyone it was my father."

"What you do in the shadows of night matter little when the sun rises again in the morning," she spat, so utterly angry that her head tilted inhumanly to the side.

"Lies," he sneered. "You know my loyalties were always to you and my father equally. Though I know now how foolish that was, if I had only remained faithful to my father then that bastard child you raised as if he'd grown within your own womb would be dead and Camelot would be safe."

Morgana moved as quickly as she had ten years ago, at the youthful age of twenty. She gripped her ornate dagger, the very dagger she'd received from Arthur on her twenty second birthday, and held it firmly against his throat with a crazed expression. Arthur put on his best effort to appear unfazed by her abrupt motions. He simply looked into her eyes with an almost annoyed look. Morgana's chest rose and fell with great haste; she shook her head slowly from side to side. She opened and closed her mouth several times, her jaw shivering as if from some nonexistent icy breeze. It was as if she couldn't find the words, like she'd been aching to speak for ages but could never do so until now. A single tear was blinked down her flawless cheek as her beautiful green eyes drowned in unshed tears.

"He is not a bastard," she finally said, her voice cracking slightly. "Mordred has a father, I assure you."

"And who is that, Morgana?" he seethed. "Some scoundrel, some murderous criminal being forced to rot away for his sins behind steel bars as his son will soon mimic – and what of his mother, I wonder? Tell me, was she a whore, some village s–"

"I am no whore," she said viciously, causing several of the dimmed candles to grow to nearly reach the stone ceiling, "and you rot away for your sins behind castle walls."

Arthur looked at Morgana as if he'd never seen her before, like she had just spoken some sort of foreign language that he could not decipher. He knew one thing for certain, the words Morgana had just spoken could not be true, there was no way...

"Do not tease me, Morgana," he said suddenly, taking an abrupt step backwards to free himself from her reach. "I have been tormented enough for one evening."

"I do not jest, brother, not anymore," she whispered.

"Morgana you can't mean–"

Morgana shed her previously unshed tears and looked away, out the opposing window onto a courtyard that had once belonged to her.

"I was a child, I knew nothing of men – of boys," she frowned, closing her eyes for a thoughtful moment. "I was so young, we both were, Arthur."

"This is madness," said Arthur. "If you– I would have known."

"I was fifteen, you a year younger," she sighed, disgusted in herself for crumbling before the insufferably noble sovereign. "We were children, too young to even begin to understand the consequences to our immature accounts of pleasure."

"You lie, Morgana," he said a bit frantically. "I would have known if you bore my son, your figure never changed. You–"

"– were sent away for six months," she snapped. "Have you forgotten? Your father forced me to live in solitude at my childhood home until I bore your son, with only Gaius to see to me."

"You were on a mission trip," said Arthur, shaking his head. "You went to Cornwall to help with the wounded from the war with–"

"For six months?" she snorted. "Tell me you are not that naïve, Arthur. You believed that your father would send his fifteen year old female ward into a battle zone for the better half a year?"

"But someone would have told me," he said dumbly.

"Your father suffered his undying guilt for baring me illegitimately into this cruel world," she said logically. "What honestly makes you think that he would want you to be forced to suffer such a fate, with your sister no less. He ordered the infant from my womb to be suffocated before it took its first breath of air."

"You do go on, Morgana," said Arthur crudely. "How long did it take you to plot out this tale?"

"I do not tell tales of my son," she snapped, "_our _son."

"Stop this!" he shouted. "If your story is true then why does the boy live?"

"Because I begged, pleaded for his life," she said, tears falling as freely as her words. "Gaius begrudgingly agreed to smuggle the child into the night after his birth. He left the infant, our son, to be raised by the Druids. I felt a bond with him when he appeared wounded in my chambers, but I did not know him to be my son until after I left Camelot for good. He was just a nameless babe when he was torn from my arms."

"Why did you not tell me then, Morgana?" asked Arthur threateningly. "After all these years, why did you not tell me? The boy must be just shy of his twentieth year now and you choose tonight to confess this to me, a night when I am most emotionally vulnerable? Has he sent you to manipulate me? Because I am no longer wrapped around your wicked finger, and you cannot take advantage of me, not anymore."

"It is not like I never considered it before now," said Morgana, ignoring his suspicions of manipulation. "There were nights when you held me in your arms – nights before Guinevere – when I laid awake, watching you sleep, sleep so soundly. I knew that if you knew of your father's sins, of my true whereabouts for those six months that you would never sleep soundly again. I could have never done that to you."

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you care whether or not I bore such a burden on my mind?"

"Because I would not wish such a burden on my worst enemy and never on someone I loved above all others," she admitted. "And you were and have been both of those titles to me."

"Give me proof," he said firmly. "Your words are nothing but lies to me now."

"And I suppose the fact that he has your eyes does not suffice?" said Morgana, raising an inquisitive brow. His silence was her answer, and she released a heavy sigh. "Ask the wizard, ask Merlin. I imagine Gaius would have told him such privileged information before his untimely death."

"It should not have been described untimely to you considering it was you who killed him," said Arthur coldly.

"Ah, so I did," she said curtly, suddenly more interested with the length of her fingernails than Arthur's eyes, "but his years on this earth allotted him enough time to tell Merlin all his secrets, secrets that Merlin now keeps from you."

"Merlin would not keep something like that from me," Arthur argued.

"Wouldn't he now?" she said with an upward inflection. "He knew of the true nature of your mother's death, of the blood you and I share for years–"

"That's different," said Arthur, "he was trying to protect me."

"And how would his motives be any different now?"

Arthur swallowed hard, looking deep into Morgana's pale green eyes. Morgana's body had not aged since she left Camelot. She looked just as she did at the age of twenty, slender and more beautiful than any other woman he had ever seen or would ever see. Her eyes, however, her gorgeous eyes had aged and grown tired and lifeless with each passing year. Those eyes haunted Camelot's king, etched themselves to his consciousness. It took several moments before Arthur spoke again.

"I'll send the guards to retrieve him," said Arthur.

"No need, sire," said Merlin, pushing open Arthur's bedroom door. He looked onto Morgana as if she was the filth upon the underbelly of his boot and Morgana looked onto Merlin with an almost amused expression. "I could smell her familiar wicked stench of self-loathing from my chambers."

"Ah, I'm so happy to see you as well, Merlin," said Morgana in a sardonic tone. "It has been too long."

"Not nearly long enough," he cooed.

She approached her former friend turned mortal foe with elegant strides. She smiled snidely and gently placed a calloused palm against his cheek. Merlin looked down at her small frame, his posture stiff and his eyes the only moving body part. No matter how many years passed, Merlin and Morgana still retained their almost animalistic pull towards one another. Whenever the two were in each other's presence, the air became thick with tension. Morgana thrived on the suffocating air and Merlin choked on their innate bond. She leaned in close to the warlock, her fingers sensually combing through his peppered beard that had only recently began to grow. She clicked her tongue against the inside of her mouth as her lips became so close to the warlock's jawline that he could feel her warm breath against his pale skin. He suppressed a shudder, cracking his lips only slightly at her tender touch.

"The beard, Merlin," she whispered seductively, "it does not suit you."

Then her sexual undertones faded in an instant as her smiled changed from sensual to sheer amusement as she playfully tapped his cheek twice. He winced and turned away from Morgana as she hovered beside Arthur once again.

"It appears I am still able to at least wrap your wizard around my wicked finger, Arthur," she smiled victoriously.

"You forget yourself, Morgana," said Merlin coolly, "for it has always been the other way around."

"The only body part of yours that I have ever been wrapped around are your hips," she teased, "and I would welcome that–"

"You wish–"

"Enough," said Arthur, jerking back the attention from his two counterparts.

Merlin snorted at Morgana as she sent him an approving grin, narrowing her gaze. Arthur was far from amused as he stared viciously between the pair.

"Morgana has come to gloat tonight, Merlin," said Arthur.

"Adulterous gossip travels fast," she smirked, "especially when it involves the king and queen of Camelot."

"I wager her self-satisfaction is not what you sent for me to witness," said Merlin.

"Still as witty as ever I see, Merlin," said Morgana.

Merlin smirked and tilted his head to the side, pouting his lower lip to mock the enchantress and urging her to mock his expression. She did.

"Morgana has a claim," he explained, ignoring their banter.

"And what is that, sire?"

"She claims the boy, Mordred is her son – and my son," he said.

It was obvious that Merlin was trying his hardest to appear unfazed but his involuntary gulp made his indifference a facade. Arthur stared intensely at his best friend and confidant with an unreadable expression.

"Preposterous," said Merlin uneasily as if he had choked on the word.

"Liar," Morgana hissed.

"Silence," Arthur bellowed, striding before Merlin with unyielding determination after every heavy step. "Merlin, what are you keeping from me?"

"Nothing," he lied again, much easier this time.

"You lying, son of a whore," said Morgana swiftly. "You have grown to be just as big of a sniveling coward as Gaius."

"Watch your tongue," said Merlin threateningly.

"I understand now, Merlin, why you never told Arthur of his son," she grinned, urging him to release his rage. "You've always had a soft spot for bastards... seeing as you are one yourself–"

Merlin suddenly tore forward at Morgana, and she expected and wanted this reaction. The only time Merlin was ever feeble or weak at her hand was when he allowed his emotions to get the better of him. He extended his hand and gripped Morgana around the neck, shoving her against the stone wall at full force. He leaned in as close as Morgana had done to him earlier as she grinned pompously up at him. She reacted only slightly to his harsh touch, choosing to place a soft palm on his chest for her own protection as well as to feel his rapid heartbeat. She slid her index finger in between the loose buttons of his maroon night shirt, savoring the feel of his skin against her fingertips. Merlin didn't seem to notice, and if he did then it was clear he did not mind. He held his free hand in her hair, gripping her lengthy raven locks to force her to look up into his piercing blue eyes.

"Watch your tongue, Morgana, or I shall tear it from your mouth and watch it for you," he sneered, his eyes glowing gold for a quick second.

"Your threats do not frighten me, _boy_," she spat. "What more could you possibly do to me? Kill me _again_?"

"I will make you wish for death," he said in a fierce whisper.

"That's enough, Merlin," said Arthur, yanking him away from Morgana by the back of his collar.

"You should keep your mut on a leash, Arthur, before he ends up biting someone," said Morgana indifferently, adjusting her hair and posture after her release, "because you know that once they get their first taste blood they grow an insatiable craving for more."

"You–" Merlin began.

"Ignore her," said Arthur, pulling Merlin back into place though he fought the King wholeheartedly to get his hands on Morgana once again. Morgana smiled mockingly at the wizard as Arthur prevented him from harming her again. "She just wants to get a rise out of you."

"I want to get _something _out of him alright," she smirked as Merlin released a quiet involuntary moan.

–

_**A/N:**__ So... not my typical romantic comedy/angsty Merlin fic. It's darker, and I like it so far. I hope you do too. I will update soon. I will make this much more Merlin/Morgana next chapter. I was/kind of am considering making it all Arthur/Morgana, but I want this fic to be more of a coming to terms fic than a rekindling love. We shall see, I don't know. Enjoy for now=)_

–

_**Review.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Under the Malign Star**_

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_Chapter Two_

–

_See everything;  
>overlook a great deal;<br>correct a little.  
>–<em>

Merlin's eye glowed gold, his line of defense when his body unable, and shot Morgana abruptly back into the chair she had erected not long before. The wooden berth skidded across the floor, slamming against the wall so hard that her skull struck the stone a loud "THUD" at contact. Morgana blinked several times, reaching up to cradle the back of her head, still in mild shock. Merlin jerked his arms free from Arthur's firm grasp, striding forward and gripping Morgana's now struggling wrists to hold them firmly by her side. He leaned down to his face was centimeters from hers, inhaling the magic that oozed from her pours, that enchanted him. She initially fought back, but his adrenaline and sheer strength overpowered her. She did not dare use magic against him now, not against the most powerful wizard to walk the earth when he was in such an enraged state. Morgana was many things but stupid was not one of them.

"Why are you here, witch?" Merlin seethed, his grip tightening around Morgana's wrists so much that she feared her bones would crack. However, she refused to allow her magical counterpart to notice the unbearable pain she felt in her forearms. She kept her jaw rigid, tilting her chin up to face him with unwavering confidence.

"I already told your master," she whispered hoarsely, too quiet for Arthur to hear. "I heard word of the queen's betrayal."

"Come now, Morgana," he smirked, infuriatingly so, "I think I know you better than that. I will ask you again, why are you here?"

An eternity passed or possibly a mere moment.

"That's enough, Merlin," said Arthur, firmly holding Merlin's shoulder to pull him away from Morgana. She was grateful, though she'd never admit it.

Merlin released Morgana's wrist and Morgana moved too quick. She gripped Merlin's wrist just as she had before, yanking him back down to her eye level. Her expression had changed, unreadable. Her fingertips dripped a familiar red liquid, leaving a stain around Merlin's forearm. The blow to her head had began to bleed, and she was too proud to admit it aloud.

"You know exactly why I am here, _Emerys_," she whispered so hoarsely that Arthur could no hear.

Merlin did not move at first. He looked down into Morgana's desperate eyes, seeing deep into her cryptic soul. He looked almost frightened for a quick second, his mouth opening and closing with no words escaping. Arthur peered suspiciously over at the pair, wondering exactly what Morgana had said to disturb his magical adviser so. Merlin pulled away from Morgana's grip at last as if he had been touched by a diseased creature.

"Sire," said Merlin slowly, looking back over his shoulder only slightly so he could keep his attention on Morgana. "I need to tend to Morgana's wound. It appears she is bleeding."

Morgana held up her bloody palm for good measure, fanning her fingers with a mocking grin.

"Merlin–" he began.

"We won't be long," he said in a curt tone. "I assure you. Come, Morgana."

Merlin reached down and grabbed Morgana's forearm and yanked her into the corridor before Arthur could protest. He had no concern for her aching cranium or the now significant amount of blood pouring down her neck and leaking onto the stone floor. The two did not speak or even exchange eye contact as the warlock dragged Morgana down the lengthy halls and spiral staircases until the pair reached what was once Gaius's physician quarters. Merlin practically threw Morgana onto the bench he had healed so many other before her upon (with so much more tender care). He fumbled through his cabinets, pulling random bottles and bandages to heal Morgana's injury he had caused. He returned a moment later to sit facing her on the bench with either leg hanging off either side, setting his collected items on the table. He reached for a bottle of particularly smelly liquid to disinfect the wound but Morgana placed a gentle hand on his knuckles.

"I am more than capable of healing myself, Merlin," she said, reaching for the bottle but Merlin stopped her.

"I am well aware of your infamous healing abilities, Morgana," said Merlin, uncorking the bottle and pouring the liquid onto an unsullied cloth. He didn't ask when he placed the cloth just below her hairline upon the gash he had created. Morgana winced and scolded herself for it, Merlin would be lying if he didn't take some form of sick pleasure at her involuntary cringe.

"Sorry," he said.

"I'm sure," she muttered sarcastically, setting her hand over his.

She meant to take his place, holding the cloth to stop the bleeding and cleanse the wound. Morgana's eyes wandered onto Merlin's face again. He had aged since she had last seen him, but he looked just as handsome as before if not more so. His eyes were just as bright and daunting as they were in his boyhood, though they now appeared to sport lines and dark circles that had not previously existed. His face seemed rigid, less boyish and hopeful of a great future. Morgana knew that Merlin was just as aware of Camelot's inevitable doom as she was. Merlin, however, was slightly less willing or slightly less pleased to admit it.

"These are your chambers now, aren't they?" she asked with no malice or spite on her tongue as she peered around at a room she remembered all too well. Merlin did not drastically alter the look of the chambers that Gaius once called home, but there were undeniably more items that were specifically meant for immortal hands.

"Yes," he replied, corking his medicine bottle.

"It's... different," she said slowly.

"Enough with the small talk," said Merlin, "I would like to exchange as few syllables with you as necessary."

"And I thought you would be anxious to catch up with an old friend," she teased, using her free hand to trace Merlin's jaw line down to the base of his collarbone. He did not object, merely closing his eyes and tilting his head in a way to flex every indention in his neck. His expression was almost sad, which was not the response Morgana wanted or expect. She slowly pulled her hand back and rested it in her lap like a dog's tail retreating between his legs.

"We have not been friends for a long time, Morgana," he said softly. "We have not been _anything _for a long time, and we will never be anything again – especially now."

"You've seen what I've seen?" she said.

"Yes," he replied. "I have the same dream each and every night. It's not a dream... it's–"

"It's a nightmare," she whispered.

"And it will soon come to be reality," he sighed.

"I know," she frowned.

"Tell me something, Morgana," said Merlin, looking at her for the first time. "Who's death will you truly mourn, your bastard or your brother–"

"Yours," she whispered.

"Mine?" he said, choking on the word. "What do you mean?"

"Your heart beats as one with Arthur," she breathed, "and when your king takes his final breath – the destiny you were bound to share will die with him. Yes, your body may survive, my old friend, but you will perish along side your king. And Camelot will soon crumble under the weight of an empty thrown that no man shall ever be worthy enough to fill."

"Do not pretend to care, Morgana," said Merlin cryptically, trying not to drown in the fluidity of the witch's words. "Your loyalties are not to Camelot, to me – to Arthur. Your allegiance lies with your bastard son – to those vicious fiends he commands."

"You are wrong," she hissed. "I am loyal to but one, the only living soul I can always rely on, the only one I trust – and you are staring into her eyes as we speak."

"How predictable," Merlin said, heaving a heavy breath. "You were always so fond of your own reflection that you could not possibly remain loyal to anyone but yourself. You are but a fool."

"Forgive me for growing so hesitant to commit my allegiance after being betrayed by those I once trusted above all else. I am apprehensive to extend my loyalties to mere scoundrels who have done nothing but steal from me and abandon me when I was so desperate for empathy," she frowned. "My father rejected me as his blood, and my whore of a maid stole the first man I ever loved then in turn stole the crown from my head and Camelot from under my feet. My brother stole my innocence, my claim to the throne, leaving me with only a barren womb and a broken heart in his wake. Then comes you Merlin–"

"Oh, do go on," he sneered.

"My dear old friend, how easily you have forgotten," she smiled shallowly as if she savored his name escaping her lips. "It was not all that long ago that something much stronger than hate stood between us."

"I have not forgotten," said Merlin begrudgingly in a quiet voice.

"You may not have stolen my life the night you so stealthily poisoned me," she whispered, "but you did succeed in stealing my spirit. Morgause may have restored my life, but she could not restore the spirit you alone destroyed."

"You chose to swear yourself to Morgause–"

"Ah, just as you _chose_ to push me into the shadows to avoid the acknowledgment of the existence my powers," she snapped. "Just as you _chose_ to disregard me like some forgotten play thing, and just as you _chose_ to allow me to live alone and terrified in a palace of blood thirsty mortals, constantly searching for any faint stench of magic blood to spill. Do not accuse me of admiring my own reflection when you have been hypnotized by your own the moment those blue eyes of yours glowed gold."

"I am nothing like you," said Merlin with unyielding ferocity.

"We are not so different," she went on. "We are both mere sinners, Merlin, the only difference between us is – I am willing to admit it."

"You take innocent lives for your own selfish gain," he replied.

"Do not act as if you are a saint," she scoffed. "You have taken just as many lives by your own hand as I have by mine."

"I have only ever acted for the greater good," he argued. "If I took a life in the process it was never in vain."

"My actions have only ever been for the greater good," she said. "However, our definition of what exactly that "greater good" is differs quite significantly."

"I also kill for self defense, and you kill for sport," he spat.

Morgana rolled her eyes theatrically. She pulled her hand from her newly healed cranium gently and looked down at the bloody cloth with an odd expression. Her eyes widened as if she had just seen something most appalling instead of her own blood. Morgana was not unaccustomed to blood. She had lost a significant amount of blood over her three plus decades of life in battle and had spilled just as much. Merlin eyed her curiously, looking down at the bloody rag and then back onto Morgana. She had began to rub the detailed stitching of the cloth between her fingers.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "I'm sure you have seen much more blood than that over your many years of mass torture of the innocent."

She blinked hard just once and looked up at Merlin with a rare genuine expression.

"This is a handkerchief," she said quietly.

"What a fine observation," said Merlin sarcastically.

"Where did you get this?" she breathed.

"It was tucked away with some of Gaius's valuables that he left to me," he replied.

"I gave this to Gaius," she sighed. "When I was very young. It had belonged to my mother – a gift to her from my father, Gorlois. I remember she used it to wipe away my tears I shed at her bedside not long before she passed – I was no bigger than a mite. It was one of the few things I had to remember her by. I had asked Gaius to keep it safe for me. I was so scared that I would lose it or damage it during my reckless childhood. I can't believe I had forgotten..."

"Well, he apparently treasured your heirlooms much more than you treasured his life," he frowned.

"I was not responsible for his death," she said reluctantly, "though I did accept the credit."

"You set the North Tower aflame," said Merlin. "Gaius died in that very fire."

"It is true that I was to blame for the fire," she said, "but Gaius had been killed long before the flames burned his body."

"Do not test me, Morgana," he hissed.

"I have no reason to lie to you, Merlin," she said sincerely. "I have nothing to gain."

"Just upstairs you were all too pleased to gloat about his murder," he snapped. "What are you trying to prove?"

"I am not trying to prove anything," she said in an infuriatingly calm voice, "but I would like you to hate me for the right reasons. You have so many, but his death should not be one of them. Gaius may have died by my side, but he did not die at my hand."

"I don't believe you," he replied.

"And I do not care whether you do or not," she said. "I was beside Mordred when he thrust his blade through Gaius's chest. It is my son's sword that is stained with the physician's blood. I did not instigate his murder. I set the fire to hide the crime committed by my own blood. He was not yet hunted by the knights of Camelot as I was, and I wanted to keep things that way for as long as I could."

"You were always a skilled liar," said Merlin.

"You found his remains directly in the center of the library, did you not?" she said. "Why would a man trying to escape a fire refuse to seek out one of three exits?"

There was no explanation to how Morgana knew that information. Merlin ran every possibility, every scenario in his head to comprehend how she would have been able to discover that information. The only two people who knew exactly where Gaius was found was himself, and he had told no one. Merlin found the placement of his guardian's body suspicious, but he did not press for further investigation considering the identity of the murderer would surely not have changed.

"Why are you telling me this now?" asked Merlin breathlessly. "Why would you disclose this after all this time?"

"I have committed so many sins, Merlin," she said softly. "I can no longer bare the weight of the misdeeds of others."

Merlin watched as Morgana's shoulders slouched to stare down at the bloody cloth. She waved her calloused palm over the fabric, bewitching the material back to its opaline white. She carefully folded the handkerchief into a neat square and place it onto the tabletop before Merlin. He surveyed it for a moment before swiftly taking it into his hand and shoving it most inelegantly back into Morgana's closed fist.

"It's yours – take it," he said, unwilling to look into her eyes.

"No," she replied, setting the handkerchief in the same spot she had before. "Gaius left it in your capable hands."

"It belongs to you, Morgana," he insisted, forcing back into her hand.

"Merlin," she whispered in a way that demanded attention. "I want you to have it. Please, take it."

Morgana slowly and poignantly took Merlin's hand in her lap, and he did not fight her touch. She opened his palm and placed the delicate cloth in his hand. She took her other hand a gently closed his fingers over the fabric. Both sets of eyes gradually rose from their hands before finally locking upon each other. It was never about what was said between Merlin and Morgana. I was what was never said that was so poignant. They suffocated on words unsaid and denied feelings under a star crossed sky. Yes, the destiny Merlin and Morgana shared had always suffered beneath the merciless overcast of the malign star. Merlin's free hand latched over Morgana's so that all four of their hands were folded together as one. A surge of electricity shot between them causing their senses to heighten as every hair on their bodies stood on end at once. Morgana gasped quietly, her eyes involuntarily glowing gold for an instant as did Merlin's. After an eternity of comfortable silence it was Morgana who spoke first.

"Merlin–"

Before she could finish another syllable the door to Merlin's chambers opened. Guinevere appeared, her cheeks tear stained and eyes swollen from remorse. She wore a gown that Morgana had dreamed of wearing upon the throne she deemed to be entitled to. The dress was purple and as elegant as anything Morgana had ever seen. Her blood boiled at the sight of Gwen. She could control her disgust at the woman who wore crown when away from the kingdom, but she could not contain her revulsion in her presence. When Morgana looked upon Guinevere, she saw nothing but thief who stole the man she loved, the crown she deserved and the life she desired.

"Merlin, do you know where Arthur–" Gwen started until she set eyes on Merlin and Morgana. "What is going on here? What is she doing here?"

Morgana instantly jerked her hand from Merlin's grip leaving a premature tinging under his skin. She took to her feet and delivered a very low and melodramatic mock of a curtsy. The shell that Merlin had almost cracked had hardened once more before his eyes. Morgana's wicked grin returned as she slowly corrected her posture. Gwen appeared as if she was attempting to blind her female counterpart with unwavering confidence in some failed intimidation effort. Morgana was merely amused by Guinevere's facade of nobility and sainthood.

"Your Majesty, what a dishonor," Morgana scoffed, retreating from her curtsy.

"Morgana, how the mighty have fallen," she replied, turning up her nose. "Once a princess high in an ivory tower to a lone vagrant cowering beneath weight of the monster she alone helped create."

"And Guinevere, how successfully you have risen out from the squaller you were born into," Morgana seethed. "What a fairytale you live – from a lowly maid to sovereign whore."

"How dare you speak to me with such disrespect?" she shouted. "I am your Queen, and–"

Morgana's chest heaved a heavy breathe before her reply, "You are not _my_ Queen."

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_**A/N:** It's been awhile, loves. I hope you enjoy this little chapter. I promise my next update will be much longer and will most likely be the last or second to last chapter. Excuse typos for now. _

_**Coming Soon: **Morgana and Gwen will have it out then Arthur returns. Morgana, Merlin and Arthur talk about why exactly she has returned to Camelot. Much more to come._

–

_**Review.**_


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